Courting
by ThePotionMaster'sMistress
Summary: Sirius courts Severus (female) and chaos ensues.


That this gorgeous, _breathtaking_ woman could possibly be Severus Snape was absurd. Inconceivable, even. For where was the unkempt mane of greasy, snarled hair? And the antiquated clothing, threadbare and several sizes too large- what of them? Gone too were the yellowed teeth, unpolished and neglected.

No, Sirius decided, this woman simply could _not_ be Overgrown Bat of his childhood. Not when her every characteristic stood in stark contrast to his recollections of a sniveling outcast, a girl so homely even Slughorn had once ridiculed her.

 _This_ woman was stunning, in every sense of the word. With her radiant curtains of long black hair, she drove Sirius to distraction, the well-kept tips tickling the small of her back in a manner so innocently seductive. How he longed to card his fingers through those gossamer threads, his calloused digits trembling slightly at such a lofty ambition.

Her lips, _Merlin_ , her lips. So very pink and oh so full. What it might be like for Sirius, to press his own chapped lips to the soft petals decorating her face? Such a thought was dizzying, maddening even, and he soon found himself forgetting to breathe as regularly as he should.

But it was the woman's eyes, so big and yet so completely natural, that did Sirius in completely. They were like pools of nighttime sky, dark and incomprehensible as they stood in stark contrast to the landscape of milky skin surrounding them.

"Padfoot." It was Remus's voice, hesitant and quiet.

Sirius blinked at the sound, suddenly aware of the awkwardness he had summoned into the living room. Helplessly, he blushed, the heat creeping uncomfortably into his ears and down unto his chest.

"I don't believe we've been introduced." Sirius finally managed, when at last he had regained control of his tongue.

Visibly startled at his declaration, the newcomer turned to Dumbledore for assistance, only to be rewarded with an unrestrained smile for the effort.

"You are mistaken, Black."

The velvety drawl was all-too-familiar, it's unique artistry unmistakable. It was a voice Sirius never _could_ forget, the sound having been a staple of his youth at Hogwarts. How many times, after all, had its owner used it with the purpose of cursing him? Worse yet, how many times had Sirius heard the smooth soprano tremble and squeak, the musical voice turning harsh and guttural as Severus sobbed after a particularly harsh encounter with the Marauders?

Sirius frowned at the shameful memories, his stomach twisting so harshly he felt nauseated. It was the clothing-removal incident in fifth year, especially, that sickened him. What was meant to have been a harmless, yet unpleasant, game of levitating Snape about themselves had quickly turned into sexual assault. And not only had Sirius none nothing to prevent it, he had goaded James on, coming to his senses only once the bloomers had been removed.

"You'll have to forgive me." Sirius entreated, the weighted meaning behind the words resonating sharply with him. "I haven't seen you since graduation."

"The day you and Potter _stained_ my robes with goat bile." Snape reminded, glowering fiercely at the memory.

"Gryffindors have never been very accepting of Slytherin valedictorians." Tonks observed, glancing at Bill. "Didn't your year singe of Julius Fawley's eyebrows?"

"I had _nothing_ to do with that." Bill defended earnestly, looking offended at the very thought. "And it's not like they didn't grow back."

"Two years later." Charlie inserted, picking at a scab on his forearm.

"And crooked." Tonks finished, manipulating her eyebrows to replicate the ghoulish condition of Mr. Fawley's.

At the carefree bantering from the younger crowd, Snape frowned, no doubt irked that they were making so little of her former student's plight. No doubt she empathized a great deal with the aforementioned victim, having had four inches of her hair charred off in Herbology by James in their second year.

"Look," Sirius began, speaking lowly so that the laughing crowd could not overhear, "I know it might mean very little to you now, but I _am_ sorry."

The confession seemed to catch the spy by surprise, for her eyes widened ever so slightly. But to what extent, Sirius could not say. For the raven-haired beauty opted to remain mute, her full lips never once deviating from the standard scowl associated with her person.

"I'm not saying we have to be friends." Sirius was quick to offer. "We don't even have to _like_ each other."

"What _are_ you saying, then?"

She spoke softly, the six syllables nearly lost in the uproar of Tonks's amused snorts.

"I just want us to stop… _hating_ each other." Sirius confessed. "That's all."

Forgiveness, too, Sirius reflected. But he was nowhere near so foolish as to request such an unobtainable pardon. For he had shamefully, and irreversibly, carried out horrendous acts against her person. All in pursuit of an easy laugh, and approval from the man he had once called brother.

"I have spent the greater part of my life despising your existence." She drawled, her gaze so penetrating Sirius's skin began to crawl.

"I cannot say that such feelings weren't returned." Sirius admitted, struggling to maintain eye contact.

"I should think not." Snape agreed, frowning momentarily as some private memory flickered across her mind.

Sirius unconsciously mimicked her expression, pondering what the milky-skinned witch might be recalling. Was it the unprecedented disaster at the Shrieking Shack, or perhaps the Fifth-Year Torment? But what of the countless other harassments? And the mischief the Marauders had directed against her- pranks that had been much more malevolent than they had been humorous- did she still recall them as vividly as did he?

"I was a child back then, and Azkaban has given me plenty of time to reflect on my past misdeeds." Sirius began, humbling himself for the first time in a great while. "And I know now that any hatred shared between the two of us was my fault."

"You cannot be solely to blame." Snape dismissed. "I made myself an easy target."

"No!" Sirius exclaimed, more loudly than he would have liked to. "Don't say that!"

At the raised voice, the Potions Mistress stepped hastily backward, the reflex all to ingrained to avoid.

"Is there a problem?" Dumbledore demanded, his melodic voice taking on a sharped edge than was customary.

"No." Sirius proclaimed, putting his hands up in a show of surrender.

"Severus?" Dumbledore inquired gently, raising one grey brow.

Before answering, she glanced up into his Sirius's face, a frightening mixture of caution and courage darting across her face.

"Everything is alright."

"See to it that it stays that way." Dumbledore cautioned, directing the thinly-veiled warning towards Sirius.

Thus said, the Hogwarts Headmaster toward again to McGonagall, with whom he had been discussing the many merits of cat ownership. Unfortunately, the remaining visitors to Grimmauld Place did not at all feel it necessary to follow the Mugwump's example. Without abandoned they stared, wanting nothing more than to observe the discourse between two self-proclaimed enemies.

"Can we step into the kitchen?" Sirius requested, irritated with the blatant nosiness.

" _Alone_?!" She breathed, highly scandalized at the very un-Slytherin suggestion.

"Kreacher will be in there." Sirius was quick to assure, having noticed the elf scrubbing out the stove just moments ago.

"The meeting will be starting soon." Snape reminded, glancing warily up into the face of an antique clock.

"We've got five minutes." Sirius argued, referring to his more accurate wristwatch.

"But-"

"Dumbledore won't start the meeting without his spy." Sirius reasoned, his argument irrefutable.

For a moment, the Slytherin looked ready to argue, her lips parting then closing in rapid succession. But whatever arguments might have existed against his innocent proposal, Snape seemed unable to discover them. And so it was with a sigh of defeat, and a slump of narrow shoulders, that the Snake caved in and followed Sirius into the mostly empty kitchen.

"Merlin," Snape gagged, her face coloring green, "What is that _stench_?"

Sirius scowled, waving his wand a few times to dissipate what little of the foul odor he could.

"Fred and George thought hiding their dung bombs in the oven was a good idea."

"You should be making _them_ clean out the oven, then." Severus voiced, flicking her wand once to vanquish the remainder of the hellish scent.

"If I did that, it would _never_ get cleaned." Sirius muttered. "At least not properly."

Without replying to Sirius's assertions, the frightfully frail woman turned to face Kreacher. Muttering venomously beneath his breath, the ill-tempered elf scrubbed furiously at the blackened mess splattered within the oven.

"A bit of niffler milk and baking soda should dissolve that." She advised the irate elf.

"Is you thinking I am having niffler milk just lying around!?" Kreacher squawked, his gravelly voice rising several octaves.

Having had her politeness returned with rudeness, Snape glowered and turned her back to hapless elf.

"He's always been that way." Sirius apologized, leveling his own glower at the Kreacher's back.

"One could hardly blame him." Snape excused, suddenly somber.

Sirius blinked, unable to understand the undertones of such a melancholic declaration. But rather than allow any awkwardness to come about from lack of a response, he grabbed a bottle of half-empty wine from the counter and wiggled at Snape.

"Would you care for a glass?"

If Sirius had learned anything from Lily about Snape, it was that the former was both a collector and connoisseur of wine.

"If you insist." The spy obliged, failing to appear altogether unexcited.

Resisting the urge to point out that he hadn't in any way insisted, Sirius fetched a few wine glasses from a cupboard and filled them generously with the vintage.

"Thank you." She murmured, taking a generous sip from her glass.

Sirius nodded, trying his hardest to remain nonchalant.

"Why have you brought me into the kitchen?" Snape questioned, her practicality prompting her to demand answers straight away.

"To apologize." Sirius replied, perfectly candid.

"But you had already done so in the living room." Snape reminded, her uneasy suspicion of him never once wavering.

"Not properly." Sirius replied, fidgeting anxiously with the stem of his glass.

"You'll recall that I am not an overly sentimental woman." The Slytherin drawled, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "I neither require, nor _desire_ , an apology any different than the one you've already given."

"All the same," Sirius insisted, "You deserve one."

"I think I ought to be the judge of that." Snape argued, looking uncomfortable with all the attention being paid to her feelings.

"Do you honestly believe that you deserved such…maltreatment?" Sirius exclaimed, saddened to find that he expected the answer to be in the affirmative.

"It is no great secret to anyone that I made it very difficult for anyone to care for, much less tolerate, me."

"That's not true." Sirius argued, recalling how fondly Lily had spoken of her.

"It is." Snape returned, trying too hard to remain nonchalant. "I have very few redeemable qualities."

Sirius shuddered to think that he might have played a part in the development of Snape's painfully low self-esteem. How many times, after all, had he and the Marauders made it perfectly clear to her that her very existence was intolerable? That she was, in fact, a scourge upon the entirety of the wizarding world?

"But you're so _bloody_ smart." Sirius muttered, unsure of whether he should let the matter drop. "And brave, too."

While the declaration of her brilliance didn't seem to faze the potioneer, the remark about her bravery did.

"You are." Sirius maintained, nodding once. "Not very many people would willingly spy against Voldemort."

At the mention of the despot's name, Snape grimaced and grasped her forearm reflexively. Clad though she was in her usual sleeves of black, Sirius knew all-too-well what marked the creamy skin beneath the fabric.

"I'm sorry-" He stumbled, unsure of how to continue.

"Don't be." The Slytherin ordered, massaging the irritated area.

Sirius was about to offer her a magically-imbued cooling compress, not knowing what else could be done, when Molly's distinct voice carried into the kitchen.

"Sirius? Severus?" The veteran mother addressed. "We're starting now."

"We should go." Severus decided, hesitating only a moment before she hurried towards the door to the living room.

"Wait-," Sirius reached for the spy with a gentle hand, but stopped immediately upon receiving a glare of murderous proportions.

"Before you go," Sirius tried again, keeping his hands firmly at his sides, "Would you agree to a truce?"

"A truce?" Snape repeated, incredulous but not unwilling.

"A truce." Sirius confirmed, slowly stretching out a hand toward her.

She stood there for a long moment, contemplating his outstretched fingers with a mixture of bewilderment and suspicion.

"We'll never be friends." She stated, still refusing to yield.

"I'll settle for acquaintances." Sirius allowed, wriggling his fingers impatiently.

With a dramatic rolling of the eyes, an action lacking in sincerity, the introvert snaked out her spindly fingers and entwined them with his own calloused digits. As smooth and white as polished marble, yet soft as cotton, the chilly palm felt more than pleasant pressed against his own sweaty palm.


End file.
